I laughed, sent him a peach, and let him stew on it while I went to grab some lunch.
It was Wednesday, and the afternoon’s suite of meetings were always especially gruelling – two of them back-to-back, both chaired by individuals infatuated with the sound of their own voices, over-attended and running way longer than necessary. I switched my phone to silent instead of turning it off, laid it on my thigh and texted Quinn again;
~How DIGNIFIED do you think you’ll be when I tap that [peach] of yours?~
Ten minutes later I felt a discreet buzz against my flesh and unlocked the screen.
~[embarrassed emoji] not very~
~on a scale of one to ten~
~possibly zero?~
I managed to keep my face suitably bored-looking while I typed a reply.
~So when’s it gonna be my turn?~
It was thirty minutes into the second meeting before my phone vibrated again. I woke the screen and – ugh, fucking Vodafone!
~Keep in touch with your loved ones! This week only, overseas calls capped at $10!~
Yes, I thought, directing my eyes to the speaker without really seeing him, I should ring my parents. Amongst other things, I should probably let them know I’ve kinda sorta let some guy more or less move into the place with me. Before Lindsey does. She showed up without warning Monday evening to borrow the electric hedge-trimmer – fortunately Quinn and I were eating minestrone at the time rather than, uhh…
I will say this for Lindsey – she doesn’t embarrass me intentionally. So when she walked in on us there was no acting shocked or razzing. She just said ‘hi’ and ‘how’re you doing?’ to him like a normal person, and left it at that. Although I got a certain amount of follow-up when the two of us were downstairs in the garage trying to find the trimmer.
“Gawd, you sure punch above your weight, Jezza…” she muttered, elbowing me.
I ignored her, and she continued;
“And I would say you know how to pick ’em, but in this case it was me who picked him. So do I get a finder’s fee, eh?” Another elbow to the ribs. Ugh. Sisters…
I was jerked back to the present as everybody else around the table started packing up their shit and standing. As usual we had run over time, and it was after five.
On the train and rocking away northward through the maze of tracks around the dockside area, I pulled out my phone to discover that Quinn had replied to my query ‘when’s it gonna be my turn?’ – about ten minutes ago, probably just before hopping on his bike for the ride home.
~your the boss~ the first little bubble said, followed a minute later by;
~on this occasion anyway~
You’re the boss…I felt something surge in me. I don’t buy in to all that conquest and domination bullshit, but realistically, sex works better with one person leading and one following – and I wanted to lead. On this occasion anyway. I thought about it for the whole journey, eyes closed, immune to the babel of humanity pressing in around me.
He’d be home before me, I knew. He always was, with his vastly more efficient mode of transport. I’d given him a key weeks ago, so he’d be inside when I got there. Inside reading my texts back to himself, maybe? Or maybe his replies…?
I turned into the driveway, pacing fast, buoyed up by want. His bike wasn’t there.
My mind unravelled in an instant, every thread of thought unspooling into a tangle of panic, ugly bloody scenes leaping up behind my eyelids…
Hold up, said reason, shoving its way to the front of my consciousness. Hold up a moment, Jeremy. If the highway is actually closed, then he can’t get through any more than anybody else can. Or cross the centre barrier and take an alternate route any more than anybody else can.
Right. Yeah. I fumbled for my phone and opened the journeys app. There were no closures, no black lines of absolute cloggage showing anywhere in the region. Not much orange even. A good day for getting places. Unless you’re Quinn.
I took a deep breath, and then another, and called his number. No answer. It seemed like…maybe this was a time for voicemail?
“Um, hey?” I cleared my throat to ease the squeakiness. “I, um…are you okay? Just wondering where you are, is all. I mean…you’re usually here before me…”
And of course I didn’t specify where ‘here’ is, I realised after I hung up. Never mind. He’ll figure it out. If he…no. Not even going there. I let myself in, dumped my jacket and laptop bag on the kitchen counter, walked to the window seat and made myself focus on the rhythms and the motions of the waves.
My phone buzzed. ~be there in 10~
Thank god. The tension unravelled all at once, replaced by so much relief that I felt shaky and sick in its wake – but it’d passed by the time I heard the front door latch click open.
“Where the hell have you been, mister?” I wagged a playful finger at him.
He laughed. “Worried I’d bailed on you, eh?”
“Or fallen off your bike, maybe?”
His amusement evaporated. “Shit. Sorry to put you through that, man. The thing is…I went back to mine first, but yeah…did you really want me to text you that I’d be late because I was taking the most thorough shower in all of recorded history?”
It was my turn to laugh. “Yeah, I’m not sure where you’d find the emojis for that…”
“Ahh, fuck you!!” he spat, though his mouth was quirking at the corners.
“Ohh no,” I told him. “Nuh-uh. No. Not this time.”
His blush was as gorgeous as the sunset starting to stain the sky out the window to my left, and I wrapped him in my arms.
“So-oo,” I teased, “so apparently I’m the boss, but it was Quinn who decided he wanted to get fucked right now, tonight…?”
“We can always not…” he mumbled into my shoulder.
Taking a handful of his hair, I urged him free of his hidey-hole, forced him to meet my eyes.
“But I think we will,” I breathed. “I think we will.”
I kissed him then, without releasing my hold on his locks, tugging back further so his face was upturned, using my additional height to bear down slightly and insist he concede space to me…
Not that I had to insist very hard. He was all putty, open and yielding, all panting and big pleading eyes when I drew back a moment, and I realised he was in that zone, that place I’d been so recently – ready to offer himself. But I wanted to hear him confess it…
I ran my free hand down his back, over an arse-cheek, spreading the fingers wide. I have big hands but they weren’t sufficient to cup him. So much man…ahh, what the hell…I released his hair so my other hand could join the party.
“You gonna let me have this?” I whispered, squeezing, lifting. “You want me all the way inside you, sweet boy?”
All I got for an answer was a chopped salad of syllables. Yeah…so ready.
I had him stripped and arranged face down on the sheets in record time – fast enough to disorientate. And then…I paused. Maybe – partly? – for payback, but mostly to let the delicious anticipation spread. God, I never tire of this particular sight…a whole man, laid out ready and waiting for me, the vee of his legs and the hollow of his spine like runway lights, pointing the way…
And this whole man was Quinn. I mounted the bed and draped myself over him, making as much contact as possible, glorying in every inch of skin melding with skin, inhaling his essential scent, letting him feel my weight before filling him full of myself.